


raindrops and pearls

by Wallissa



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, M/M, tenderness and romance, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 00:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallissa/pseuds/Wallissa
Summary: A rainy afternoon at the library where John doesn't get much reading done.(A mix of soft gasps and tender eyes, soft fur and white scars, raindrops on glass and blood on gold)((This is a deleted scene taken from a planned adaption of the Beauty and the Beast fairy tale, but it can be read out of context - please read the note at the beginning))





	raindrops and pearls

**Author's Note:**

> I worked on the idea of a Bane and John adaption of the Beauty and the Beast fairy tale for the longest time. A few months ago, I finally wrote this little scene - but it didn't quite go as planned.  
> Originally, I had the intention of including it in a bigger story, explaining the background, properly introducing the characters to each other and working with the whole slow burn romance plot of the original tale. However, this scene didn't really fit into the story as I had planned it out, so it just collected dust on my laptop.
> 
> Well, last month, said laptop got drowned in tea. To spare you the whole tragic and boring story - I got a new one!  
> But today I dared to try and turn it on and see whether I could maybe save some of my data. And it worked!! And as I was copying all my documents from my gasping old laptop onto an usb drive like a person hastily collecting all valuables from their home during a zombie apocalypse, I told myself that I WOULD post this snippet, no matter what, because I really liked it and the thought of it being lost forever had made me very panicky and sad.
> 
> So here it is and I hope you like it too!
> 
> As I said - this is a scene that was originally planned in the context of a bigger work. It still works as a standalone (I'd say, at least), but we're all thrown right into the action with fewer explanation of certain things than you might expect. Maybe one could regard it as some kind of deleted scene/trailer?

His soft leather shoes are slipping on the wooden floors and John has to steady himself by holding onto the ladder leaning against the bookshelves. Two slippery steps and he’s on the furs by the fire, kneeling and carefully setting down the books he’d been carrying. Dust tickles his nose and he pats down his shirt, watches the particles swirl in front of his face before turning towards the shelf by the window, ready to climb the ladder again.  
It’s raining outside, drops like pebbles against glass and Bane must be in pain, the cold seeping through the bricks right into his bones. The thought distracts John and he glances to the armchair where Bane rests, still but for the rise of his chest, watching John with tender curiosity.

The candlelight flickers over the pearls and diamonds, the golden grid hiding the lower half of his face in a net of shadows. Their eyes meet and even though it’s hardly a siren-call, the cool blue fixed on him, John abandons his books to walk over furs, slip-slide over wood, until his ankle brushes against the leather of Bane’s boot. 

Maybe in another world, Bane would use his voice to lead armies, surrender masses. But here, John goes days without hearing anything but his own words, reflected back to him in the dark corridors. And yet, like magic, the power of Bane’s thoughts seeps through him without a spoken word, and John knows what to do, even when the only sound coming from Bane is the blood pumping through his veins, the breath in his lungs, music too intimate for the reality of a cold afternoon. Or maybe, John thinks as he rests his knee on the arm of the chair, embroidery scratching him through soft leather, he and Bane simply have similar ideas of what John should be doing.  
He’s leaning in and if it’s Bane’s power over him that makes him do as Bane wishes, he holds the same magic within himself. Because Bane seems to wake from his statuesque stillness to pull John into his lap, and that is everything, everything John could’ve wanted.

Enveloped by warmth and Bane’s arms, John runs gentle hands over Bane’s scarred scalp, tilting his head back a bit until he can feel his breath on his face, the gold warm against his lips, the diamonds sharp against his tongue, Bane sucking on air like he’s been stabbed, hands flexing helplessly on John’s hips, warm and heavy against smooth leather. John presses his teeth to the fine net, like a dog biting at a chain. It doesn’t give, but he imagines the magic humming against his teeth.

His fingers curl into the fur draped around Bane’s shoulders, clutching tight when Bane’s rough palms slide up his torso, up until John can feel his heart beating against Bane’s hand, where it belongs, red and hot and alive for Bane, for his touch and his care. John sighs against his mouth and kisses the mask, feels his lip finally split against the sharp diamonds and he wishes he could share the taste with Bane, could feel his hot tongue chasing the coppery taste into John’s mouth, soothing the sting, and as he pulls back to meet Bane’s eyes, he knows he thinks the same. Eyes black pools in the dim light and blood glittering on his mask, his scarred mouth half-hidden in the shadows, John should see the beast the villagers whisper about. But he sees the desire, instead, warm and black and shiny-red and John wants Bane to leave his mark on John, too, teeth-shaped proof of Bane’s lust against his neck.

Fingertips with skin thick from playing deadly melodies on bowstrings pull on the strings of John’s vest, clumsy-shy. John smiles against the golden net separating them and helps until the vest parts under their hands, Bane’s fingertips close enough that with each breath, John’s ribs brush against them. John wants to kiss him, wants to taste coppery gold against his tongue again, but his arms tangle in the blue of his vest under Bane’s hands. When he has freed himself of the vest, Bane is pushing at his tunic already and John allows that too, linen against his cheeks, a flash of white over his eyes until it’s off, dropped next to them, forgotten once it hits the ground. 

Like this, rough palms and fur coat against his bare skin, John thinks of the Beast again. But Bane touches him like his skin is glass and it’s so gentle John feels like he’s cracking open. It fills him with a desire that feels like fever. Fire pumping through his veins as he pulls and kicks and scrambles out of his shoes, dizziness bubbling behind his eyes as he presses their foreheads together, pulling at the strings of his breeches, knotting his fingers together.  
When he tears at them in embarrassed frustration, Bane’s hands gentle his fingers until the strings come loose and his breeches slip down his hipbones. Quid pro Quo, he supposes as he looks up a little, almost crossing his eyes to watch Bane. Bane, who is still looking down at his hands tangled with John’s. His eyelashes are golden like the muzzle over his scarred mouth and John feels that he’s still trembling in the firm grip. 

Desire is eating him up and Bane must smell it on him because he makes to shrug out of his fur coat. The idea of Bane’s bare arms around his hips, John’s nails drawing lines on his broad back to paint his marks of lust over ugly scars, it warms his blood. But John hears the rain, feels the cold licking at his spine and thinks about the way Bane’s body locks up in cold nights, hurting, so he takes Bane’s wrists and pulls them to his hips instead. 

His own hands slip underneath fur to feel linen, then strings, finally a heartbeat, skin. A path down Bane’s chest to the leather of his trousers and John has to wiggle a bit to get enough room between the two of them to get his hand on the hot line of Bane’s cock, the feel of it enough to make John sigh softly, yearning. 

Once John finally fumbled the fly of Bane’s trousers open – and it takes longer than he’d hoped, fingers impatient and slow in their haste – the hands on his hips still. It would worry John, make him pull back, but he can feel Bane’s heartbeat against his palm, cock hot and hard and John knows it’s pleasure that froze Bane like this.  
He takes a moment to run the pad of his thumb up and down the vein the underside, feeling it throb in time with his own cock, the slide slicker with every pass over the sweet crown. John wants to lean in for a taste, for a kiss, feel the salty drops of precome slicking his lips, but suddenly, Bane seems to wake, his hands squeeze John’s hips and just like that, John decides he wants something else. 

Or maybe it’s Bane’s magic again, because he knows, he helps John when he scrambles to get out of his trousers and almost gets a punch to his mask for his troubles when John finally frees his right foot and his upper body snaps back like a bowstring after being bend over to get at his foot. That’s when Bane huffs a laugh, taking John’s hand and pressing his palm to the gold grid over his lips, diamonds and pearls digging into John’s skin in a kiss of breath and that’s it, the fever is back and John can feel precome drip down his thigh while his arms quiver.  
“How?” It shouldn’t have that much of an impact, Bane’s voice, but it feels like John hasn’t heard it for days, and now it’s deep and hungry and John is shaking. 

“I don’t- do you have something?” He’s probably still a little loose, a little slick, but it’d hurt. And that’s something Bane would never accept, John knows as he presses closer, the tip of his cock kissing the hotness of Bane’s torso, Bane’s length throbbing against his thigh. With a sigh he chews on his lower lip, trying to think with Bane pulsing against him. Bane leans in, diamonds against John’s neck, his own sigh warm and wet on John’s throat. The movement drags his cock against John’s thigh, he feels it’s length, thickness and he mewls, hips twitching, precome smearing along the lines of Bane’s stomach. It’s dizzying, feverish and he- he _needs_ , he can’t stand the thought of pulling back. 

With the desperation of a fox caught in a trap, he pulls on Bane’s bunched up tunic, grinds up against him and it’s good, it’s good, but not quite perfect, not quite enough. Arms wrapped tightly around Bane’s neck, pressing the sharp diamonds and pearls into his skin and for a moment, he’s so lost in juniper, moss and fur that he barely registers Bane’s palms sliding down his back until they rest, now sweat-slick from the curve of John’s spine, on his hips. 

John mewls and tries to grind against Bane’s stomach again, hard muscles, soft skin slick already with the way John’s cock is drooling. But he can’t move, Bane holds him tight, stops him in his tracks and now John’s mewl is more of a whine, pitiful and his hips twitch, trying to fuck up and against him, but Bane hushes and moves him. Carefully, he arranges him, working against John and the way he’s clawing at his shoulders. 

He’s trying to push John back and in his mindless, feverish haze, John claws at him, tries to get him close again, but suddenly Bane’s magic works on him again and John understands, the slick head of his cock slipping between John’s cheeks as Bane lowers him again and yes. _Yes._ “That works.” John breathes against gold, licks a pearl and Bane’s hands on his hips flex, cock jerking where it’s pressed so close to where John wants him.  
“Yes?” a hopeful, shaky breath against Johns lips and it makes him shiver, hips twitch and Bane isn’t holding him tight now that he’s where he wants him, so the twitch makes his cock slide against his hole and that’s perfect, perfect. John nods, moans and slowly starts to grind down.

Bane squeezes one of his cheeks, pulling a bit and it makes the slide that much easier, that much better, John gasps and fucks his hips back, the hot promise of Bane’s cock against his greedy hole burning his skin. The hot length of Bane’s cock drags over his balls, too, heavy, full and sensitive, making John’s cock twitch, pulsing precome down his shaft. His mouth feels slack when he presses it to Bane’s mask this time, reopening the cut on his lip, tasting the salt as he presses his tongue against the grid. Bane slips the tip of his finger into the hot clench of his body and it’s a punch, a lightening bolt right down John’s spine. He rolls his hips, feels the finger slip in just a tiny bit deeper, dry and rough and perfect. 

And suddenly he’s so close- moaning mindlessly, tongue slick against golden and pearls, his hands slip-sliding over the smooth lines of Bane’s back, pulling at the fabric, gripping at his thick neck, running up the back of his skull. He feels his drool dripping down the muzzle. A drop hits his chest, his breath hitches, muscles spasm and he feels almost blinded by the pleasure that’s ripping at him until he gasps, finally, jerks, fabric tears under his hands, he feels like he’s falling, pushed, gasping and jerking and drowned in pleasure that shoots through him for what feels like eternity, like no time at all.

As he’s shaking, he can feel Bane’s cock twitch between his cheeks, feels it pulse slick-hot over his hole once, twice, and one would think a man like Bane would be loud, but all he does is sigh, a sweet, dreamy breath of a sound against John’s cheek, muscles under John’s palms trembling with held back power. It’s enough to make John’s cock twitch weakly, the thought that even while he’s loosing his mind, and he is, _he is_ , John can feel it in his shaky breaths, could see it in his eyes if he’d ever dream to pull back, that even while he’s like this, Bane is still careful, still holding back, hands on John like he’s holding a ripe peach, careful not to bruise. 

John wants to grind down against him, wants to lick him clean and most of all wants to kiss him, kiss him, kiss him until his lips are sore and bleeding all over again, but he just leans in, melts into Bane’s arms. Bane, who’s still breathing heavily, who sounds like he’s about to cry, who helplessly presses his muzzled face into John’s shoulder, he surrounds him with warmth, wraps his arms around him. John lets him, feels the tremors in those bear-strong arms, sees the hopeless warmth in shiny blue eyes, hears the breath rasping against gold and diamonds, a cruel cage that only allows the half-dream of an idea of what waits underneath, scar-snarling lips open and wet, bitten and licked, but not by John. He turns his head a little to look at him, Golden lashes again, fluttering over unfocused eyes and between that and the sting of his lips, John wonders who the Beauty really is.

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly! Thank you so much for reading!! :)  
> I hope the whole thing wasn't too odd and out of context. And as I said - there is a bigger story idea behind this and if you'd like to read it, consider telling me so. Then I'll be forced to put my scatterbrain to good use and finally get it all down on paper!  
> In general - if you liked it, consider leaving a heart or even a comment, that makes my day like you wouldn't believe! <3
> 
> Oh, and another word! I'm not a native speaker, so I apologise if that shows <3.
> 
> Again - thank you so much for reading! I hope you have a great day (and that your laptop doesn't tragically drown in tea).
> 
> edit - there is also a [tumblr post](http://spiritinggently.tumblr.com/post/181062024359/little-you-know-what-this-rose-has-cost) for the fic, because I felt like making a moodboard for it!


End file.
